UNI        H£ 


GIFT  OF 


Until  the  Evening 


Arthur  C.  Benson 
i\ 


New  York 

Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 
Publishers 


B4- 


COPYRIGHT,  1907 
BY  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  Co. 

COPYRIGHT,  1909 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  Co. 


Reprinted  from  "  The  Thread  of  Gold"  by  permission 
ofE.  P.  Dutton  $  Co. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PRAYER      5 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  SUFFERING 15 

THE  FAITH  OF  CHRIST 20 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  EVIL 27 

RENEWAL 33 

AFTER  DEATH 39 

THE  ETERNAL  WILL     ....'....  48 

UNTIL  THE  EVENING 56 


UNTIL  THE  EVENING 


PRAYER 

I  AM  often  baffled  when  I  try  to  think  what 
prayer  is;  if  our  thoughts  do  indeed  lie 
open  before  the  eyes  of  the  Father,  like  a 
little  clear  globe  of  water  which  a  man  may  hold 
in  his  hand  —  and  I  am  sure  they  do  —  it  cer- 
tainly seems  hardly  worth  while  to  put  those  de- 
sires into  words.  Many  good  Christians  seem  to 
me  to  conceive  of  prayers  partly  as  a  kind  of 
tribute  they  are  bound  to  pay,  and  partly  as  re- 
quests that  are  almost  certain  to  be  refused. 
With  such  people  religion,  then,  means  the  effort 
which  they  make  to  trust  a  Father  who  hears 
prayers,  and  very  seldom  answers  them.  But 
this  does  not  seem  to  be  a  very  reasonable 
attitude. 

I  confess  that  liturgical  prayer  does  not  very 
much  appeal  to  me.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  to 
correspond  to  any  particular  need  in  my  mind. 
It  seems  to  me  to  sacrifice  almost  all  the  things 
that  I  mean  by  prayer  —  the  sustained  intention 
[5] 


Until    the   Evening 


of  soul,  the  laying  of  one's  own  problems  before 
the  Father,  the  expression  of  one's  hopes  for 
others,  the  desire  that  the  sorrows  of  the  world 
should  be  lightened.  Of  course,  a  liturgy  touches 
these  thoughts  at  many  points;  but  the  exercise 
of  one's  own  liberty  of  aspiration  and  wonder,  the 
pursuing  of  a  train  of  thought,  the  quiet  dwelling 
upon  mysteries,  are  all  lost  if  one  has  to  stumble 
and  run  in  a  prescribed  track.  To  follow  a  ser- 
vice with  uplifted  attention  requires  more  mental 
agility  than  I  possess;  point  after  point  is  raised, 
and  yet,  if  one  pauses  to  meditate,  to  wonder,  to 
aspire,  one  is  lost,  and  misses  the  thread  of  the 
service.  I  suppose  that  there  is  or  ought  to  be 
something  in  the  united  act  of  intercession.  But 
I  dislike  all  public  meetings,  and  think  them  a 
waste  of  time.  I  should  make  an  exception  in 
favour  of  the  Sacrament,  but  the  rapid  disappear- 
ance of  the  majority  of  a  congregation  before  the 
solemn  act  seems  to  me  to  destroy  the  sense  of 
unity  with  singular  rapidity.  As  to  the  old  theory 
that  God  requires  of  his  followers  that  they  should 
unite  at  intervals  in  presenting  him  with  a  certain 
amount  of  complimentary  effusion,  I  cannot  even 
approach  the  idea.  The  holiest,  simplest,  most 
benevolent  being  of  whom  I  can  conceive  would 
be  inexpressibly  pained  and  distressed  by  such  an 
[6] 


Until    the   Evening 


intention  on  the  part  of  the  objects  of  his  care; 
and  to  conceive  of  God  as  greedy  of  recognition 
seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  the  conceptions  which 
insult  the  dignity  of  the  soul. 

I  have  heard  lately  one  or  two  mediseval  stories 
which  illustrate  what  I  mean.  There  is  a  story  of 
a  pious  monk,  who,  worn  out  by  long  vigils,  fell 
asleep,  as  he  was  saying  his  prayers  before  a 
crucifix.  He  was  awakened  by  a  buffet  on  the 
head,  and  heard  a  stern  voice  saying,  "Is  this 
an  oratory  or  a  dormitory?"  I  cannot  conceive 
of  any  story  more  grotesquely  human  than  the 
above,  or  more  out  of  keeping  with  one's  best 
thoughts  about  God.  Again,  there  is  a  story 
which  is  told,  I  think,  of  one  of  the  first  monas- 
teries of  the  Benedictine  order.  One  of  the  monks 
was  a  lay  brother,  who  had  many  little  menial 
tasks  to  fulfil ;  he  was  a  well-meaning  man,  but 
extremely  forgetful,  and  he  was  often  forced  to 
retire  from  some  service  in  which  he  was  taking 
part,  because  he  had  forgotten  to  put  the  vege- 
tables on  to  boil,  or  omitted  other  duties  which 
would  lead  to  the  discomfort  of  the  brethren. 
Another  monk,  who  was  fond  of  more  secular 
occupations,  such  as  wood-carving  and  garden- 
work,  and  not  at  all  attached  to  habits  of  prayer, 
seeing  this,  thought  that  he  would  do  the  same; 
[7] 


Until    the   Evening 


and  he  too  used  to  slip  away  from  a  service,  in 
order  to  return  to  the  business  that  he  loved 
better.  The  Prior  of  the  monastery,  an  anxious, 
humble  man,  was  at  a  loss  how  to  act;  so  he 
called  in  a  very  holy  hermit,  who  lived  in  a  cell 
hard  by,  that  he  might  have  the  benefit  of  his 
advice.  The  hermit  came  and  attended  an  Office. 
Presently  the  lay  brother  rose  from  his  knees  and 
slipped  out.  The  hermit  looked  up,  followed  him 
with  his  eyes,  and  appeared  to  be  greatly  moved. 
But  he  took  no  action,  and  only  addressed  him- 
self more  assiduously  to  his  prayers.  Shortly 
after,  the  other  brother  rose  and  went  out.  The 
hermit  looked  up,  and  seeing  him  go,  rose  too, 
and  followed  him  to  the  door,  where  he  fetched 
him  a  great  blow  upon  the  head  that  nearly 
brought  him  to  the  ground.  Thereupon  the 
stricken  man  went  humbly  back  to  his  place  and 
addressed  himself  to  his  prayers ;  and  the  hermit 
did  the  same. 

The  Office  was  soon  over,  and  the  hermit 
went  to  the  Prior's  room  to  talk  the  matter 
over.  The  hermit  said:  "I  bore  in  my  mind 
what  you  told  me,  dear  Father,  and  when  I  saw 
one  of  the  brethren  rise  from  his  prayers,  I 
asked  God  to  show  me  what  I  should  do;  but 
I  saw  a  wonderful  thing;  there  was  a  shining 
[8] 


Until   the   Evening 


figure  with  our  brother,  his  hand  upon  the 
other's  sleeve;  and  this  fair  comrade,  I  have 
no  doubt,  was  an  angel  of  God,  that  led  the 
brother  forth,  that  he  might  be  about  his  Father's 
business.  So  I  prayed  the  more  earnestly.  But 
when  our  other  brother  rose,  I  looked  up;  and 
I  saw  that  he  had  been  plucked  by  the  sleeve 
by  a  little  naked,  comely  boy,  very  swarthy  of 
hue,  that  I  saw  had  no  business  among  our 
holy  prayers;  he  wore  a  mocking  smile  on  his 
face,  as  though  he  prevailed  in  evil.  So  I  rose 
and  followed;  and  just  as  they  came  to  the 
door,  I  aimed  a  shrewd  blow,  for  it  was  told  me 
what  to  do,  at  the  boy,  and  struck  him  on  the 
head,  so  that  he  fell  to  the  ground,  and  presently 
went  to  his  own  place;  and  then  our  brother 
came  back  to  his  prayers." 

The  Prior  mused  a  little  over  this  wonder, 
and  then  he  said,  smiling:  "It  seemed  to  me 
that  it  was  our  brother  that  was  smitten."  "Very 
like,"  said  the  hermit,  "for  the  two  were  close 
together,  and  I  think  the  boy  was  whispering 
in  the  brother's  ear;  but  give  God  the  glory; 
for  the  dear  brother  will  not  offend  again." 

There  is  an  abundance  of  truth  in  this  whole- 
some ancient  tale;  but  I  will  not  draw  the  morals 
out  here.  All  I  will  say  is  that  the  old  theory 
[0] 


Until    the   Evening 


of  prayer,  simple  and  childlike  as  it  is,  seems 
to  have  a  curious  vitality  even  nowadays.  It 
presupposes  that  the  act  of  prayer  is  in  itself 
pleasing  to  God;  and  that  is  what  I  am  not 
satisfied  of. 

That  theory  seems  to  prevail  even  more 
strongly  in  the  Roman  Church  of  to-day  than 
in  our  own.  The  Roman  priest  is  not  a  man 
occupied  primarily  with  pastoral  duties;  his 
business  is  the  business  of  prayer.  To  neglect 
his  daily  offices  is  a  mortal  sin,  and  when  he  has 
said  them,  his  priestly  duty  is  at  an  end.  This 
does  not  seem  to  me  to  bear  any  relation  to 
the  theory  of  prayer  as  enunciated  in  the  Gospel. 
There  the  practice  of  constant  and  secret  prayer, 
of  a  direct  and  informal  kind,  is  enjoined  upon  all 
followers  of  Christ;  but  Our  Lord  seems  to  be 
very  hard  upon  the  lengthy  and  public  prayers  of 
the  Pharisees,  and  indeed  against  all  formality  in 
the  matter  at  all.  The  only  united  service  that  he 
enjoined  upon  his  followers  was  the  Sacrament  of 
the  common  meal ;  and  I  confess  that  the  saying 
of  formal  liturgies  in  an  ornate  building  seems  to 
me  to  be  a  practice  which  has  drifted  very  far 
away  from  the  simplicity  of  individual  religion 
which  Christ  appears  to  have  aimed  at. 

My  own  feeling  about  prayer  is  that  it  should 
[10] 


Until    the   Evening 


not  be  relegated  to  certain  seasons,  or  attended 
by  certain  postures,  or  even  couched  in  definite 
language;  it  should  rather  be  a  constant  uplift- 
ing of  the  heart,  a  stretching  out  of  the  hands  to 
God.  I  do  not  think  we  should  ask  for  definite 
things  that  we  desire;  I  am  sure  that  our  defi- 
nite desires,  our  fears,  our  plans,  our  schemes, 
the  hope  that  visits  one  a  hundred  times  a  day, 
our  cravings  for  wealth  or  success  or  influence, 
are  as  easily  read  by  God,  as  a  man  can  discern 
the  tiny  atoms  and  filaments  that  swim  in  his 
crystal  globe.  But  I  think  we  may  ask  to  be 
led,  to  be  guided,  to  be  helped;  we  may  put 
our  anxious  little  decisions  before  God ;  we  may 
ask  for  strength  to  fulfil  hard  duties;  we  may 
put  our  desires  for  others'  happiness,  our  hopes 
<for  our  country,  our  compassion  for  sorrowing 
or  afflicted  persons,  our  horror  of  cruelty  and 
tyranny  before  him ;  and  here  I  believe  lies  the 
force  of  prayer;  that  by  practising  this  sense  of 
aspiration  in  his  presence,  we  gain  a  strength  to 
do  our  own  part.  If  we  abstain  from  prayer,  if 
we  limit  our  prayers  to  our  own  small  desires, 
we  grow,  I  know,  petty  and  self-absorbed  and 
feeble.  We  can  leave  the  fulfilment  of  our  con- 
crete aims  to  God;  but  we  ought  to  be  always 
stretching  out  our  hands  and  opening  our  hearts 
[11] 


Until    the   Evening 


to  the  high  and  gracious  mysteries  that  lie  all 
about  us. 

A  friend  of  mine  told  me  that  a  little  Russian 
peasant,  whom  he  had  visited  often  in  a  military 
hospital,  told  him,  at  their  last  interview,  that  he 
would  tell  him  a  prayer  that  was  always  effective, 
and  had  never  failed  of  being  answered.  "But 
you  must  not  use  it,"  he  said,  "unless  you  are  in 
a  great  difficulty,  and  there  seems  no  way  out." 
The  prayer  which  he  then  repeated  was  this: 
"Lord,  remember  King  David,  and  all  his 
grace." 

I  have  never  tested  the  efficacy  of  this  prayer, 
but  I  have  a  thousand  times  tested  the  efficacy 
of  sudden  prayer  in  moments  of  difficulty,  when 
confronted  with  a  little  temptation,  when  over- 
whelmed with  irritation,  before  an  anxious  inter- 
view, before  writing  a  difficult  passage.  How 
often  has  the  temptation  floated  away,  the  irri- 
tation mastered  itself,  the  right  word  been  said, 
the  right  sentence  written  !  To  do  all  we  are 
capable  of,  and  then  to  commit  the  matter  to 
the  hand  of  the  Father,  that  is  the  best  that  we 
can  do. 

Of  course,  I  am  well  aware  that  there  are  many 
who  find  this  kind  of  help  in  liturgical  prayer; 
and  I  am  thankful  that  it  is  so.  But  for  myself, 


Until    the   Evening 


I  can  only  say  that  as  long  as  I  pursued  the 
customary  path,  and  confined  myself  to  fixed 
moments  of  prayer,  I  gained  very  little  benefit.  I 
do  not  forego  the  practice  of  liturgical  attendance 
even  now;  for  a  solemn  service,  with  all  the 
majesty  of  an  old  and  beautiful  building  full  of 
countless  associations,  with  all  the  resources  of 
musical  sound  and  ceremonial  movement,  does 
uplift  and  rejoice  the  soul.  And  even  with 
simpler  services,  there  is  often  something  vaguely 
sustaining  and  tranquillising  in  the  act.  But  the 
deeper  secret  lies  in  the  fact  that  prayer  is  an 
attitude  of  soul  and  not  a  ceremony ;  that  it  is  an 
individual  mystery,  and  not  a  piece  of  venerable 
pomp.  I  would  have  every  one  adopt  his  own 
method  in  the  matter.  I  would  not  for  an  instant 
discourage  those  who  find  that  liturgical  usage 
uplifts  them ;  but  neither  would  I  have  those  to 
be  discouraged  who  find  that  it  has  no  meaning 
for  them.  The  secret  lies  in  the  fact  that  our 
aim  should  be  a  relation  with  the  Father,  a  frank 
and  reverent  confidence,  a  humble  waiting  upon 
God.  That  the  Father  loves  all  his  children 
with  an  equal  love  I  doubt  not.  But  he  is  nearest 
to  those  who  turn  to  him  at  every  moment,  and 
speak  to  him  with  a  quiet  trustfulness.  He  alone 
knows  why  he  has  set  us  in  the  middle  of  such  a 
[13] 


Until    the   Evening 


bewildering  world,  where  joy  and  sorrow,  dark- 
ness and  light,  are  so  strangely  intermingled; 
and  all  that  we  can  do  is  to  follow  wisely  and 
patiently  such  clues  as  he  gives  us,  into  the 
cloudy  darkness  in  which  he  seems  to  dwell. 


[14] 


Until   the   Evening 


THE   MYSTERY  OF    SUFFERING 

HERE  is  a  story  which  has  much  occupied  my 
thoughts  lately.  A  man  in  middle  life,  with 
a  widowed  sister  and  her  children  depending  on 
him,  living  by  professional  exertions,  is  suddenly 
attacked  by  a  painful,  horrible,  and  fatal  com- 
plaint. He  goes  through  a  terrible  operation,  and 
then  struggles  back  to  his  work  again,  with  the 
utmost  courage  and  gallantry.  Again  the  com- 
plaint returns,  and  the  operation  is  repeated. 
After  this  he  returns  again  to  his  work,  but  at 
last,  after  enduring  untold  agonies,  he  is  forced  to 
retire  into  an  invalid  life,  after  a  few  months  of 
which  he  dies  in  terrible  suffering,  and  leaves  his 
sister  and  the  children  nearly  penniless. 

The  man  was  a  quiet,  simple-minded  person, 
fond  of  his  work,  fond  of  his  home,  conven- 
tional and  not  remarkable  except  for  the  simply 
heroic  quality  he  displayed,  smiling  and  joking 
up  to  the  moment  of  the  administering  of  anaes- 
thetics for  his  operations,  and  bearing  his  suffer- 
ings with  perfect  patience  and  fortitude,  never 
saying  an  impatient  word,  grateful  for  the  small- 
est services. 

[15] 


Until   the   Evening 


His  sister,  a  simple,  active  woman,  with  much 
tender  affection  and  considerable  shrewdness, 
finding  that  the  fear  of  incurring  needless  ex- 
pense distressed  her  brother,  devoted  herself 
to  the  ghastly  and  terrible  task  of  nursing  him 
through  his  illnesses.  The  children  behaved  with 
the  same  straightforward  affection  and  goodness. 
None  of  the  circle  ever  complained,  ever  said 
a  word  which  would  lead  one  to  suppose  that 
they  had  any  feeling  of  resentment  or  cowardice. 
They  simply  received  the  blows  of  fate  humbly, 
resignedly,  and  cheerfully,  and  made  the  best  of 
the  situation. 

Now,  let  us  look  this  sad  story  in  the  face, 
and  see  if  we  can  derive  any  hope  or  comfort 
from  it.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  nothing  in 
the  man's  life  which  would  lead  one  to  suppose 
that  he  deserved  or  needed  this  special  chasten- 
ing, this  crucifixion  of  the  body.  He  was  by  in- 
stinct humble,  laborious,  unselfish,  and  good,  all 
of  which  qualities  came  out  in  his  illness.  Neither 
was  there  anything  in  the  life  or  character  of  the 
sister  which  seemed  to  need  this  stern  and  severe 
trial.  The  household  had  lived  a  very  quiet, 
active,  useful  life,  models  of  good  citizens  — 
religious,  contented,  drawing  great  happiness 
from  very  simple  resources. 
[16] 


Until    the   Evening 


One's  belief  in  the  goodness,  the  justice,  the 
patience  of  the  Father  and  Maker  of  men  forbids 
one  to  believe  that  he  can  ever  be  wantonly 
cruel,  unjust,  or  unloving.  Yet  it  is  impossible 
to  see  the  mercy  or  justice  of  his  actions  in  this 
case.  And  the  misery  is  that,  if  it  could  be 
proved  that  in  one  single  case,  however  small, 
God's  goodness  had,  so  to  speak,  broken  down ; 
if  there  were  evidence  of  neglect  or  carelessness 
or  indifference,  in  the  case  of  one  single  child 
of  his,  one  single  sentient  thing  that  he  has 
created,  it  would  be  impossible  to  believe  in  his 
omnipotence  any  more.  Either  one  would  feel 
that  he  was  unjust  and  cruel,  or  that  there  was 
some  evil  power  at  work  in  the  world  which 
he  could  not  overcome. 

For  there  is  nothing  remedial  in  this  suffering. 
The  man's  useful,  gentle  life  is  over,  the  sister  is 
broken  down,  unhappy,  a  second  time  made  des- 
olate; the  children's  education  has  suffered,  their 
home  is  made  miserable.  The  only  thing  that  one 
can  see,  that  is  in  any  degree  a  compensation,  is 
the  extraordinary  kindness  displayed  by  friends, 
relations,  and  employers  in  making  things  easy 
for  the  afflicted  household.  And  then,  too, 
there  is  the  heroic  quality  of  soul  displayed  by 
the  sufferer  himself  and  his  sister  —  a  heroism 
2  [17] 


Until    the   Evening 


which  is  ennobling  to  think  of,  and  yet  humiliat- 
ing too,  because  it  seems  to  be  so  far  out  of  one's 
own  reach. 

This  is  a  very  dark  abyss  of  the  world  into 
which  we  are  looking.  The  case  is  an  extreme 
one  perhaps,  but  similar  things  happen  every  day, 
in  this  sad  and  wonderful  and  bewildering  world. 
Of  course,  one  may  take  refuge  in  a  gloomy 
acquiescence,  saying  that  such  things  seem  to  be 
part  of  the  world  as  it  is  made,  and  we  cannot 
explain  them,  while  we  dumbly  hope  that  we  may 
be  spared  such  woes.  But  that  is  a  dark  and  de- 
spairing attitude,  and,  for  one,  I  cannot  live  at 
all,  unless  I  feel  that  God  is  indeed  more  upon 
our  side  than  that.  I  cannot  live  at  all,  I  say. 
And  yet  I  must  live;  I  must  endure  the  Will  of 
God  in  whatever  form  it  is  laid  upon  me  —  in 
joy  or  in  pain,  in  contentment  or  sick  despair. 
Why  am  I  at  one  with  the  Will  of  God  when  it 
gives  me  strength,  and  hope,  and  delight  ?  Why 
am  I  so  averse  to  it  when  it  brings  me  languor, 
and  sorrow,  and  despair?  That  I  cannot  tell; 
and  that  is  the  enigma  which  has  confronted  men 
from  generation  to  generation. 

But  I  still  believe  that  there  is  a  Will  of  God ; 
and,  more  than  that,  I  can  still  believe  that  a 
day  comes  for  all  of  us,  however  far  off  it  may 
[18] 


Until   the   Evening 


be,  when  we  shall  understand ;  when  these  trage- 
dies, that  now  blacken  and  darken  the  very  air 
of  Heaven  for  us,  will  sink  into  their  places  in  a 
scheme  so  august,  so  magnificent,  so  joyful,  that 
we  shall  laugh  for  wonder  and  delight ;  when  we 
shall  think  not  more  sorrowfully  over  these  suf- 
ferings, these  agonies,  than  we  think  now  of  the 
sad  days  in  our  childhood  when  we  sat  with  a 
passion  of  tears  over  a  broken  toy  or  a  dead  bird, 
feeling  that  we  could  not  be  comforted.  We 
smile  as  we  remember  such  things  —  we  smile  at 
our  blindness,  our  limitations.  We  smile  to  reflect 
at  the  great  range  and  panorama  of  the  world 
that  has  opened  upon  us  since,  and  of  which,  in 
our  childish  grief,  we  were  so  ignorant.  Under 
what  conditions  the  glory  will  be  revealed  to  us 
I  cannot  guess.  But  I  do  not  doubt  that  it  will 
be  revealed ;  for  we  forget  sorrow,  but  we  do  not 
forget  joy. 


[19] 


Until    the   Evening 


THE  FAITH  OF  CHRIST 

1READ  a  terrible  letter  in  a  newspaper  this 
morning,  a  letter  from  a  clergyman  of  high 
position,  finding  fault  with  a  manifesto  put  out 
by  certain  other  clergymen;  the  letter  had  a 
certain  volubility  about  it,  and  the  writer  seemed 
to  me  to  pull  out  rather  adroitly  one  or  two 
loose  sticks  in  his  opponents'  bundle,  and  to  lay 
them  vehemently  about  their  backs.  But,  alas ! 
the  acrimony,  the  positiveness,  the  arrogance 
of  it! 

I  do  not  know  that  I  admired  the  manifesto 
very  much  myself;  it  was  a  timid  and  half- 
hearted document,  but  it  was  at  least  sympa- 
thetic and  tender.  The  purport  of  it  was  to  say 
that,  just  as  historical  criticism  has  shown  that 
some  of  the  Old  Testament  must  be  regarded  as 
fabulous,  so  we  must  be  prepared  for  a  possible 
loss  of  certitude  in  some  of  the  details  of  the  New 
Testament.  It  is  conceivable,  for  instance,  that 
without  sacrificing  the  least  portion  of  the  essen- 
tial teaching  of  Christ,  men  may  come  to  feel  jus- 
tified in  a  certain  suspension  of  judgment  with 

regard  to  some  of  the  miraculous  occurrences 
[20] 


Until    the   Evening 


there  related;  may  even  grow  to  believe  that  an 
element  of  exaggeration  is  there,  that  element  of 
exaggeration  which  is  never  absent  from  the  writ- 
ings of  any  age  in  which  scientific  historical  meth- 
ods had  no  existence.  A  suspension  of  judgment, 
say:  because  in  the  absence  of  any  converging 
historical  testimony  to  the  events  of  the  New 
Testament,  it  will  never  be  possible  either  to 
affirm  or  to  deny  historically  that  the  facts  took 
place  exactly  as  related;  though,  indeed,  the 
probability  of  their  having  so  occurred  may  seem 
to  be  diminished. 

The  controversialist,  whose  letter  I  read  with 
bewilderment  and  pain,  involved  his  real  belief 
in  ingenious  sentences,  so  that  one  would  think 
that  he  accepted  the  statements  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament, such  as  the  account  of  the  Creation 
and  the  Fall,  the  speaking  of  Balaam's  ass,  the 
swallowing  of  Jonah  by  the  whale,  as  historical 
facts.  He  went  on  to  say  that  the  miraculous 
element  of  the  New  Testament  is  accredited  by 
the  Revelation  of  God,  as  though  some  definite 
revelation  of  truth  had  taken  place  at  some 
time  or  other,  which  all  rational  men  recognized. 
But  the  only  objective  process  which  has  ever 
taken  place  is,  that  at  certain  Councils  of  the 
Church,  certain  books  of  Scripture  were  selected 


Until    the   Evening 


as  essential  documents,  and  the  previous  selection 
of  the  Old  Testament  books  was  confirmed.  But 
would  the  controversialist  say  that  these  Councils 
were  infallible  ?  It  must  surely  be  clear  to  all 
rational  people  that  the  members  of  these  Coun- 
cils were  merely  doing  their  best,  under  the  con- 
ditions that  then  prevailed,  to  select  the  books 
that  seemed  to  them  to  contain  the  truth.  It  is 
impossible  to  believe  that  if  the  majority  at  these 
Councils  had  supposed  that  such  an  account  as 
the  account  in  Genesis  of  the  Creation  was 
mythological,  they  would  thus  have  attested  its 
literal  truth.  It  never  occurred  to  them  to  doubt 
it,  because  they  did  not  understand  the  principle 
that,  while  a  normal  event  can  be  accepted,  if  it 
is  fairly  well  confirmed,  an  abnormal  event  re- 
quires a  far  greater  amount  of  converging  testi- 
mony to  confirm  it. 

If  only  the  clergy  could  realise  that  what 
ordinary  laymen  like  myself  want  is  a  greater 
elasticity  instead  of  an  irrational  certainty !  If 
only  instead  of  feebly  trying  to  save  the  out- 
works, which  are  already  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy,  they  would  man  the  walls  of  the  central 
fortress !  If  only  they  would  say  plainly  that  a 
man  could  remain  a  convinced  Christian,  and  yet 
not  be  bound  to  hold  to  the  literal  accuracy  of 


Until   the   Evening 


the  account  of  miraculous  incidents  recorded  in 
the  Bible,  it  would  be  a  great  relief. 

I  am  myself  in  the  position  of  thousands  of 
other  laymen.  I  am  a  sincere  Christian;  and 
yet  I  regard  the  Old  Testament  and  the  New 
Testament  alike  as  the  work  of  fallible  men  and 
of  poetical  minds.  I  regard  the  Old  Testament 
as  a  noble  collection  of  ancient  writings,  contain- 
ing myths,  chronicles,  fables,  poems,  and  dramas, 
the  value  of  which  consists  in  the  intense  faith 
in  a  personal  God  and  Father  with  which  it  is 
penetrated. 

When  I  come  to  the  New  Testament,  I  feel 
myself,  in  the  Gospels,  confronted  by  the  most 
wonderful  personality  which  has  ever  drawn 
breath  upon  the  earth.  I  am  not  in  a  position  to 
affirm  or  to  deny  the  exact  truth  of  the  miraculous 
occurrences  there  related;  but  the  more  con- 
scious I  am  of  the  fallibility,  the  lack  of  subtlety, 
the  absence  of  trained  historical  method  that  the 
writers  display,  the  more  convinced  I  am  of  the 
essential  truth  of  the  Person  and  teaching  of 
Christ,  because  he  seems  to  me  a  figure  so 
infinitely  beyond  the  intellectual  power  of 
those  who  described  him  to  have  invented  or 
created. 

If  the  authors  of  the  Gospels  had  been  men 
[23] 


Until   the   Evening 


of  delicate  literary  skill,  of  acute  philosophical 
or  poetical  insight,  like  Plato  or  Shakespeare, 
then  I  should  be  far  less  convinced  of  the  integral 
truth  of  the  record.  But  the  words  and  sayings 
of  Christ,  the  ideas  which  he  disseminated,  seem 
to  me  so  infinitely  above  the  highest  achieve- 
ments of  the  human  spirit,  that  I  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  confessing,  humbly  and  reverently,  that 
I  am  in  the  presence  of  one  who  seems  to  me  to 
be  above  humanity,  and  not  only  of  it.  If  all  the 
miraculous  events  of  the  Gospels  could  be  proved 
never  to  have  occurred,  it  would  not  disturb  my 
faith  in  Christ  for  an  instant.  But  I  am  content, 
as  it  is,  to  believe  in  the  possibility  of  so  abnormal 
a  personality  being  surrounded  by  abnormal 
events,  though  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  disen- 
tangle the  actual  truth  from  the  possibilities  of 
misrepresentation  and  exaggeration. 

Dealing  with  the  rest  of  the  New  Testament, 
I  see  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  a  deeply  inter- 
esting record  of  the  first  ripples  of  the  faith  in 
the  world.  In  the  Pauline  and  other  epistles  I 
see  the  words  of  fervent  primitive  Christians, 
men  of  real  and  untutored  genius,  in  which  one 
has  amazing  instances  of  the  effect  produced,  on 
contemporary  or  nearly  contemporary  persons,  of 
the  same  overwhelming  personality,  the  person- 
[24] 


Until    the   Evening 


ality  of  Christ.  In  the  Apocalypse  I  see  a  vision 
of  deep  poetical  force  and  insight. 

But  in  none  of  these  compositions,  though  they 
reveal  a  glow  and  fervour  of  conviction  that 
places  them  high  among  the  memorials  of  the 
human  spirit,  do  I  recognise  anything  which  is 
beyond  human  possibilities.  I  observe,  indeed, 
that  St.  Paul's  method  of  argument  is  not  always 
perfectly  consistent,  nor  his  conclusions  absolutely 
cogent.  Such  inspiration  as  they  contain  they 
draw  from  their  nearness  to  and  their  close  ap- 
prehension of  the  dim  and  awe-inspiring  pres- 
ence of  Christ  Himself. 

If,  as  I  say,  the  Church  would  concentrate  her 
forces  in  this  inner  fortress,  the  personality  of 
Christ,  and  quit  the  debatable  ground  of  histori- 
cal enquiry,  it  would  be  to  me  and  to  many  an 
unfeigned  relief;  but  meanwhile,  neither  scien- 
tific critics  nor  irrational  pedants  shall  invali- 
date my  claim  to  be  of  the  number  of  believing 
Christians.  I  claim  a  Christian  liberty  of  thought, 
while  I  acknowledge,  with  bowed  head,  my  belief 
in  God  the  Father  of  Men,  in  a  Divine  Christ,  the 
Redeemer  and  Saviour,  and  in  the  presence  in 
the  hearts  of  men  of  a  Divine  spirit,  leading 
humanity  tenderly  forward.  I  can  neither  affirm 
nor  deny  the  literal  accuracy  of  Scripture  records ; 

[25] 


Until    the   Evening 


I  am  not  in  a  position  to  deny  the  superstructure 
of  definite  dogma  raised  by  the  tradition  of  the 
Church  about  the  central  truths  of  its  teaching, 
but  neither  can  I  deny  the  possibility  of  an  ad- 
mixture of  human  error  in  the  fabric.  I  claim 
my  right  to  receive  the  Sacraments  of  my  Church, 
believing  as  I  do  that  they  invigorate  the  soul, 
bring  the  presence  of  its  Redeemer  near,  and 
constitute  a  bond  of  Christian  unity.  But  I 
have  no  reason  to  believe  that  any  human  pro- 
nouncement whatever,  the  pronouncements  of 
men  of  science  as  well  as  the  pronouncements 
of  theologians,  are  not  liable  to  error.  There  is 
indeed  no  fact  in  the  world  except  the  fact  of 
my  own  existence  of  which  I  am  absolutely 
certain.  And  thus  I  can  accept  no  system  of 
religion  which  is  based  upon  deductions,  however 
subtle,  from  isolated  texts,  because  I  cannot  be 
sure  of  the  infallibility  of  any  form  of  human 
expression.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  I  seem  to 
discern  with  as  much  certainty  as  I  can  discern 
anything  in  this  world,  where  all  is  so  dark, 
the  presence  upon  earth  at  a  certain  date  of  a 
personality  which  commands  my  homage  and 
allegiance.  And  upon  this  I  build  my  trust. 


[26] 


Until   the   Evening 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EVIL 

1WAS  staying  the  other  day  in  a  large  old 
country-house.  One  morning,  my  host  came 
to  me  and  said:  "I  should  like  to  show  you  a 
curious  thing.  We  have  just  discovered  a  cellar 
here  that  seems  never  to  have  been  visited  or 
used  since  the  house  was  built,  and  there  is  the 
strangest  fungoid  growth  in  it  I  have  ever  seen." 
He  took  a  big  bunch  of  keys,  rang  the  bell,  gave 
an  order  for  lights  to  be  brought,  and  we  went 
together  to  the  place.  There  were  ranges  of 
brick-built,  vaulted  chambers,  through  which  we 
passed,  pleasant,  cool  places,  with  no  plaster  to 
conceal  the  native  brick,  with  great  wine-bins  on 
either  hand.  It  all  gave  one  an  inkling  of  the 
change  in  material  conditions  which  must  have 
taken  place  since  they  were  built ;  the  quantity  of 
wine  consumed  in  eighteenth-century  days  must 
have  been  so  enormous,  and  the  difficulty  of  con- 
veyance so  great,  that  every  great  householder 
must  have  felt  like  the  Rich  Fool  of  the  parable, 
with  much  goods  laid  up  for  many  years.  In  the 
corner  of  one  of  the  great  vaults  was  a  low-arched 
door,  and  my  friend  explained  that  some  panel- 
ling which  had  been  taken  out  of  an  older  house, 
[27] 


Until   the   Evening 


demolished  to  make  room  for  the  present  man- 
sion, had  been  piled  up  here,  and  thus  the  en- 
trance had  been  hidden.  He  unlocked  the  door, 
and  a  strange  scent  came  out.  An  abundance  of 
lights  were  lit,  and  we  went  into  the  vault.  It 
was  the  strangest  scene  I  have  ever  beheld;  the 
end  of  the  vault  seemed  like  a  great  bed,  hung 
with  brown  velvet  curtains,  through  the  gaps  of 
which  were  visible  what  seemed  like  white  velvet 
pillows,  strange  humped  conglomerations.  My 
friend  explained  to'me  that  there  had  been  a  bin 
at  the  end  of  the  vault,  out  of  the  wood  of  which 
these  singular  fungi  had  sprouted.  The  whole 
place  was  uncanny  and  horrible.  The  great  vel- 
vet curtains  swayed  in  the  current  of  air,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  at  any  moment  some  myste- 
rious sleeper  might  be  awakened,  might  peer  forth 
from  his  dark  curtains,  with  a  fretful  enquiry  as 
to  why  he  was  disturbed. 

The  scene  dwelt  in  my  mind  for  many  days, 
and  aroused  in  me  a  strange  train  of  thought; 
these  dim  vegetable  forms,  with  their  rich  luxu- 
riance, their  sinister  beauty,  awoke  a  curious  re- 
pugnance in  the  mind.  They  seemed  unholy  and 
evil.  And  yet  it  is  all  part  of  the  life  of  nature; 
it  is  just  as  natural,  just  as  beautiful  to  find  life 
at  work  in  this  gloomy  and  unvisited  place, 
[28] 


Until    the   Evening 


wreathing  the  bare  walls  with  these  dark,  soft 
fabrics.  It  was  impossible  not  to  feel  that  there 
was  a  certain  joy  of  life  in  these  growths,  sprout- 
ing with  such  security  and  luxuriance  in  a  place 
so  precisely  adapted  to  their  well-being ;  and  yet 
there  was  the  shadow  of  death  and  darkness 
about  them,  to  us  whose  home  is  the  free  air  and 
the  sun.  It  seemed  to  me  to  make  a  curious  para- 
ble of  the  baffling  mystery  of  evil,  the  luxuriant 
growth  of  sin  in  the  dark  soul.  I  have  always 
felt  that  the  reason  why  the  mystery  of  evil  is  so 
baffling  is  because  we  so  resolutely  think  of  evil  as 
of  something  inimical  to  the  nature  of  God ;  and 
yet  evil  must  derive  its  vitality  from  him.  The 
one  thing  that  it  is  impossible  to  believe  is  that, 
in  a  world  ruled  by  an  all-powerful  God,  anything 
should  come  into  existence  which  is  in  opposition 
to  his  Will.  It  is  impossible  to  arrive  at  any  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulty,  unless  we  either  adopt  the 
belief  that  God  is  not  all-powerful,  and  that  there 
is  a  real  dualism  in  nature,  two  powers  in  eternal 
opposition ;  or  else  realise  that  evil  is  in  some  way 
a  manifestation  of  God.  If  we  adopt  the  first 
theory,  we  may  conceive  of  the  stationary  ten- 
dency in  nature,  its  inertness,  the  force  that  tends 
to  bring  motion  to  a  standstill,  as  one  power,  the 
power  of  Death;  and  we  may  conceive  of  all 
[29] 


Until    the   Evening 


motion  and  force  as  the  other  power,  the  quicken- 
ing spirit,  the  power  of  life.  But  even  here  we 
are  met  with  a  difficulty,  for  when  we  try  to  trans- 
fer this  dualism  to  the  region  of  humanity,  we 
see  that  in  the  phenomena  of  disease  we  are  con- 
fronted, not  with  inertness  fighting  against  mo- 
tion, but  with  one  kind  of  life,  which  is  inimical 
to  human  life,  fighting  with  another  kind  of  life 
which  is  favourable  to  health.  I  mean  that  when 
a  fever  or  a  cancer  lays  hold  of  a  human  frame,  it 
is  nothing  but  the  lodging  inside  the  body  of  a 
bacterial  and  an  infusorial  life  which  fights  against 
the  healthy  native  life  of  the  human  organism. 
There  must  be,  I  will  not  say  a  consciousness,  but 
a  sense  of  triumphant  life,  in  the  cancer  which 
feeds  upon  the  limb,  in  spite  of  all  efforts  to  dis- 
lodge it ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  me  to  believe  that 
the  vitality  of  those  parasitical  organisms,  which 
prey  upon  the  human  frame,  is  not  derived  from 
the  vital  impulse  of  God.  We,  who  live  in  the 
free  air  and  the  sun,  have  a  way  of  thinking  and 
speaking  as  if  the  plants  and  animals  which 
develop  under  the  same  conditions  were  of  a 
healthy  type,  wThile  the  organisms  which  flourish 
in  decay  and  darkness,  such  as  the  fungi  of  which 
I  saw  so  strange  an  example,  the  larvae  which 
prey  on  decaying  matter,  the  soft  and  pallid 
[30] 


Until    the   Evening 


worm-like  forms  that  tunnel  in  vegetable  ooze, 
were  of  an  unhealthy  type.  But  yet  these  crea- 
tures are  as  much  the  work  of  God  as  the  flowers 
and  trees,  the  brisk  animals  which  we  love  to  see 
about  us.  We  are  obliged  in  self-defence  to  do 
battle  with  the  creatures  which  menace  our  health ; 
we  do  not  question  our  right  to  deprive  them  of 
life  for  our  own  comfort;  but  surely  with  this 
analogy  before  us,  we  are  equally  compelled  to 
think  of  the  forms  of  moral  evil,  with  all  their 
dark  vitality,  as  the  work  of  God's  hand.  It  is  a 
sad  conclusion  to  be  obliged  to  draw,  but  I  can 
have  no  doubt  that  no  comprehensive  system  of 
philosophy  can  ever  be  framed,  which  does  not 
trace  the  vitality  of  what  we  call  evil  to  the  same 
hand  as  the  vitality  of  what  we  call  good.  I  have 
no  doubt  myself  of  the  supremacy  of  a  single 
power;  but  the  explanation  that  evil  came  into 
the  world  by  the  institution  of  free-will,  and  that 
suffering  is  the  result  of  sin,  seems  to  me  to  be 
wholly  inadequate,  because  the  mystery  of  strife 
and  pain  and  death  is  "far  older  than  any  history 
which  is  written  in  any  book."  The  mistake  that 
we  make  is  to  count  up  all  the  qualities  which 
seem  to  promote  our  health  and  happiness,  and 
to  invent  an  anthropomorphic  figure  of  God, 
whom  we  array  upon  the  side  which  we  wish  to 
[31] 


Until    the   Evening 


prevail.  The  truth  is  far  darker,  far  sterner,  far 
more  mysterious.  The  darkness  is  his  not  less 
than  the  light;  selfishness  and  sin  are  the  work 
of  his  hand,  as  much  as  unselfishness  and  holi- 
ness. To  call  this  attitude  of  mind  pessimism, 
and  to  say  that  it  can  only  end  in  acquiescence  or 
despair,  is  a  sin  against  truth.  A  creed  that  does 
not  take  this  thought  into  account  is  nothing  but 
a  delusion,  with  which  we  try  to  beguile  the  seri- 
ousness of  the  truth  which  we  dread ;  but  such  a 
stern  belief  does  not  forbid  us  to  struggle  and  to 
strive ;  it  rather  bids  us  believe  that  effort  is  a  law 
of  our  natures,  that  we  are  bound  to  be  enlisted 
for  the  fight,  and  that  the  only  natures  that  fail 
are  those  that  refuse  to  take  a  side  at  all. 

There  is  no  indecision  in  nature,  though  there 
is  some  illusion.  The  very  star  that  rises,  pale 
and  serene,  above  the  darkening  thicket,  is  in 
reality  a  globe  wreathed  in  fiery  vapour,  the 
centre  of  a  throng  of  whirling  planets.  What 
we  have  to  do  is  to  see  as  deep  as  we  can  into 
the  truth  of  things,  not  to  invent  paradises  of 
thought,  sheltered  gardens,  from  which  grief  and 
suffering  shall  tear  us,  naked  and  protesting; 
to  gaze  into  the  heart  of  God,  and  then  to 
follow  as  faithfully  as  we  can  the  imperative 
voice  that  speaks  within  the  soul. 
[32] 


Until    the   Evening 


RENEWAL 

THERE  sometimes  falls  upon  me  a  great  hun- 
ger of  heart,  a  sad  desire  to  build  up  and  re- 
new something  —  a  broken  building  it  may  be,  a 
fading  flower,  a  failing  institution,  a  ruinous  char- 
acter. I  feel  a  great  and  vivid  pity  for  a  thing 
which  sets  out  to  be  so  bright  and  beautiful,  and 
lapses  into  shapeless  and  uncomely  neglect. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  it  must  be  a  desolate  grief,  a 
fruitless  sorrow :  as  when  a  flower  that  has  stood 
on  one's  table,  and  cheered  the  air  with  its  fresh- 
ness, and  fragrance,  begins  to  droop,  and  to  grow 
stained  and  sordid.  Or  I  see  some  dying  crea- 
ture, a  wounded  animal ;  or  even  some  well-loved 
friend  under  the  shadow  of  death,  with  the  hue  of 
health  fading,  the  dear  features  sharpening  for  the 
last  change;  and  then  one  can  only  bow,  with 
such  resignation  as  one  can  muster,  before  the 
dreadful  law  of  death,  pray  that  the  passage  may 
not  be  long  or  dark,  and  try  to  dream  of  the 
bright  secrets  that  may  be  waiting  on  the  other 
side. 

But  sometimes  it  is  a  more  fruitful  sadness, 
when  one  feels  that  decay  can  be  arrested,  that 
3  [33] 


Until    the   Evening 


new  life  can  be  infused ;  that  a  fresh  start  may 
be  taken,  and  a  life  may  be  beautifully  renewed, 
and  be  even  the  brighter,  one  dares  to  hope,  for  a 
lapse  into  the  dreary  ways  of  bitterness. 

This  sadness  is  most  apt  to  beset  those  who 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  work  of  education. 
One  feels  sometimes,  with  a  sudden  shiver,  as 
when  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  passes  over  a  sunlit 
garden,  that  many  elements  are  at  work  in  a  small 
society;  that  an  evil  secret  is  spreading  over  lives 
that  were  peaceful  and  contented,  that  suspicion 
and  disunion  and  misunderstanding  are  springing 
up,  like  poisonous  weeds,  in  the  quiet  corner  that 
God  has  given  one  to  dress  and  keep.  Then 
perhaps  one  tries  to  put  one's  hand  on  what  is 
amiss ;  sometimes  one  does  too  much,  and  in  the 
wrong  way ;  one  has  not  enough  faith,  one  dares 
not  leave  enough  to  God.  Or  from  timidity  or 
diffidence,  or  from  the  base  desire  not  to  be 
troubled,  from  the  poor  hope  that  perhaps  things 
will  straighten  themselves  out,  one  does  too  little; 
and  that  is  the  worst  shadow  of  all,  the  shadow  of 
cowardice  or  sloth. 

Sometimes,  too,  one  has  the  grief  of  seeing  a 

slow  and  subtle  change  passing  over  the  manner 

and  face  of  one  for  whom  one  cares  —  not  the 

change  of  languor  or  physical  weakness ;  that  can 

[34] 


Until    the   Evening 


be  pityingly  borne ;  but  one  sees  innocence  with- 
ering, indifference  to  things  wholesome  and  fair 
creeping  on,  even  sometimes  a  ripe  and  evil  sort 
of  beauty  maturing,  such  as  comes  of  looking  at 
evil  unashamed,  and  seeing  its  strong  seductive- 
ness. One  feels  instinctively  that  the  door  which 
had  been  open  before  between  such  a  soul  and 
one's  own  spirit  is  being  slowly  and  firmly 
closed,  or  even,  if  one  attempts  to  open  it,  pulled 
to  with  a  swift  motion ;  and  then  one  may  hear 
sounds  within,  and  even  see,  in  that  moment,  a 
rush  of  gliding  forms,  that  makes  one  sure  that 
a  visitant  is  there,  who  has  brought  with  him  a 
wicked  company;  and  then  one  has  to  wait  in 
sadness,  with  now  and  then  a  timid  knocking, 
even  happy,  it  may  be,  if  the  soul  sometimes  calls 
fretfully  within,  to  say  that  it  is  occupied  and  can- 
not come  forth. 

But  sometimes,  God  be  praised,  it  is  the  other 
way.  A  year  ago  a  man  came  at  his  own  request 
to  see  me.  I  hardly  knew  him ;  but  I  could  see 
at  once  that  he  was  in  the  grip  of  some  hard 
conflict,  which  withered  his  natural  bloom.  I  do 
not  know  how  all  came  to  be  revealed ;  but  in  a 
little  while  he  was  speaking  with  simple  frankness 
and  naturalness  of  all  his  troubles,  and  they  were 
many.  What  was  the  most  touching  thing  of  all 
[35] 


Until    the   Evening 


was  that  he  spoke  as  if  he  were  quite  alone  in  his 
experience,  isolated  and  shut  off  from  his  kind,  in 
a  peculiar  horror  of  darkness  and  doubt ;  as  if  the 
thoughts  and  difficulties  at  which  he  stumbled  had 
never  strewn  a  human  path  before.  I  said  but 
little  to  him;  and,  indeed,  there  was  but  little  to 
say.  It  was  enough  that  he  should  "cleanse  the 
stuff'd  bosom  of  the  perilous  stuff  that  weighs 
upon  the  heart."  I  tried  to  make  him  feel  that  he 
was  not  alone  in  the  matter  and  that  other  feet 
had  trodden  the  dark  path  before  him.  No  ad- 
vice is  possible  in  such  cases;  "therein  the  pa- 
tient must  minister  to  himself";  the  solution  lies 
in  the  mind  of  the  sufferer.  He  knows  what  he 
ought  to  do ;  the  difficulty  is  for  him  sufficiently 
to  desire  to  do  it;  yet  even  to  speak  frankly  of 
cares  and  troubles  is  very  often  to  melt  and  dis- 
perse the  morbid  mist  that  gathers  round  them, 
which  grows  in  solitude.  To  state  them  makes 
them  plain  and  simple;  and,  indeed,  it  is  more 
than  that ;  for  I  have  often  noticed  that  the  mere 
act  of  formulating  one's  difficulties  in  the  hearing 
of  one  who  sympathises  and  feels  often  brings 
the  solution  with  it.  One  finds,  like  Christian  in 
Doubting  Castle,  the  key  which  has  lain  in  one's 
bosom  all  the  time  —  the  key  of  Promise ;  and 
when  one  has  finished  the  recital,  one  is  lost  in 
[36] 


Until    the   Evening 


bewilderment  that  one  ever  was  in  any  doubt 
at  all. 

A  year  has  passed  since  that  date,  and  I  have 
had  the  happiness  of  seeing  health  and  content- 
ment stream  back  into  the  man's  face.  He  has 
not  overcome,  he  has  not  won  an  easy  triumph; 
but  he  is  in  the  way  now,  not  wandering  on 
trackless  hills. 

So,  in  the  mood  of  which  I  spoke  at  first  —  the 
mood  in  which  one  desires  to  build  up  and  renew 
—  one  must  not  yield  oneself  to  luxurious  and 
pathetic  reveries,  or  allow  oneself  to  muse  and 
wonder  in  the  half-lit  region  in  which  one  may 
beat  one's  wings  in  vain  —  the  region,  I  mean,  of 
sad  stupefaction  as  to  why  the  world  is  so  full 
of  broken  dreams,  shattered  hopes,  and  unful- 
filled possibilities.  One  must  rather  look  round 
for  some  little  definite  failure  that  is  within  the 
circle  of  one's  vision.  And  even  so,  there  some- 
times comes  what  is  the  most  evil  and  subtle  temp- 
tation of  all,  which  creeps  upon  the  mind  in  lowly 
guise,  and  preaches  inaction.  What  concern 
have  you,  says  the  tempting  voice,  to  meddle 
with  the  lives  and  characters  of  others  —  to  guide, 
to  direct,  to  help  —  when  there  is  so  much  that 
is  bitterly  amiss  with  your  own  heart  and  life? 
How  will  you  dare  to  preach  what  you  do  not 
[37] 


Until    the   Evening 


practise  ?  The  answer  of  the  brave  heart  is 
that,  if  one  is  aware  of  failure,  if  one  has  suffered, 
if  one  has  gathered  experience,  one  must  be 
ready  to  share  it.  If  I  falter  and  stumble  under 
my  own  heavy  load,  which  I  have  borne  so  queru- 
lously, so  clumsily,  shall  I  not  say  a  word  which 
can  help  a  fellow-sufferer  to  bear  his  load  more 
easily,  help  him  to  avoid  the  mistakes,  the  falls 
into  which  my  own  perversity  has  betrayed  me? 
To  make  another's  burden  lighter  is  to  lighten 
one's  own  burden;  and,  sinful  as  it  may  be  to 
err,  it  is  still  more  sinful  to  see  another  err,  and 
be  silent,  to  withhold  the  word  that  might  save 
him.  Perhaps  no  one  can  help  so  much  as  one 
that  has  suffered  himself,  who  knows  the  turns 
of  the  sad  road,  and  the  trenches  which  beset 
the  way. 

For  this  comes  most  truly  the  joy  of  repentance ; 
it  is  joy  to  feel  that  one's  own  lesson  is  learnt, 
and  that  the  feeble  feet  are  a  little  stronger;  but 
if  one  may  also  feel  that  another  has  taken  heed, 
has  been  saved  the  fall  that  must  have  come  if 
he  had  not  been  warned,  one  does  not  grudge 
one's  own  pain,  that  has  brought  a  blessing  with 
it,  that  is  outside  of  one's  own  blessing;  one 
hardly  even  grudges  the  sin. 

[38] 


Until    the   Evening 


AFTER  DEATH 

I  HAD  so  strange  a  dream  or  vision  the  other 
night,  that  I  cannot  refrain  from  setting  it 
down;  because  the  strangeness  and  the  wonder 
of  it  seem  to  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  have 
conceived  of  it  myself ;  it  was  suggested  by  noth- 
ing, originated  by  nothing  that  I  can  trace;  it 
merely  came  to  me  out  of  the  void. 

After  confused  and  troubled  dreams  of  terror 
and  bewilderment,  enacted  in  blind  passages  and 
stifling  glooms,  with  crowds  of  unknown  figures 
passing  rapidly  to  and  fro,  I  seemed  to  grow 
suddenly  light-hearted  and  joyful.  I  next  ap- 
peared to  myself  to  be  sitting  or  reclining  on  the 
grassy  top  of  a  cliff,  in  bright  sunlight.  The 
ground  fell  precipitously  in  front  of  me,  and  I 
saw  to  left  and  right  the  sharp  crags  and  horns 
of  the  rock-face  below  me ;  behind  me  was  a  wide 
space  of  grassy  down,  with  a  fresh  wind  racing 
over  it.  The  sky  was  cloudless.  Far  below  I 
could  see  yellow  sands,  on  which  a  blue  sea  broke 
in  crisp  waves.  To  the  left  a  river  flowed  through 
a  little  hamlet,  clustered  round  a  church;  I 
looked  down  on  the  roofs  of  the  small  houses,  and 
[39] 


Until    the   Evening 


saw  people  passing  to  and  fro,  like  ants.  The 
river  spread  itself  out  in  shallow  shining  channels 
over  the  sand,  to  join  the  sea.  Further  to  the  left 
rose  shadowy  headland  after  headland,  and  to  the 
right  lay  a  broad  well- watered  plain,  full  of  trees 
and  villages,  bounded  by  a  range  of  blue  hills. 
On  the  sea  moved  ships,  the  wind  filling  their 
sails,  and  the  sun  shining  on  them  with  a  pe- 
culiar brightness.  The  only  sound  in  my  ears 
was  that  of  the  whisper  of  the  wind  in  the  grass 
and  stone  crags. 

But  I  soon  became  aware  with  a  shock  of 
pleasant  surprise  that  my  perception  of  the  whole 
scene  was  of  a  different  quality  to  any  perception 
I  had  before  experienced.  I  have  spoken  of 
seeing  and  hearing ;  but  I  became  aware  that  I 
was  doing  neither;  the  perceptions,  so  to  speak, 
both  of  seeing  and  hearing  were  not  distinct,  but 
the  same.  I  was  aware,  for  instance,  at  the  same 
moment,  of  the  whole  scene,  both  of  what  was 
behind  me  and  what  was  in  front  of  me.  I  have 
described  what  I  saw  successively,  because  there 
is  no  other  way  of  describing  it ;  but  it  was  all 
present  at  once  in  my  mind,  and  I  had  no  need 
to  turn  my  attention  to  one  point  or  another,  but 
everything  was  there  before  me,  in  a  unity  at 
which  I  cannot  even  hint  in  words.  I  then  be- 
[40] 


Until   the   Evening 


came  aware  too,  that,  though  I  have  spoken  of 
myself  as  seated  or  reclined,  I  had  no  body,  but 
was  merely,  as  it  were,  a  sentient  point.  In  a 
moment  I  became  aware  that  to  transfer  that 
sentience  to  another  point  was  merely  an  act  of 
will.  I  was  able  to  test  this;  in  an  instant  I  was 
close  above  the  village,  which  a  moment  before 
was  far  below  me,  and  I  perceived  the  houses, 
the  very  faces  of  the  people  close  at  hand;  at 
another  moment  I  was  buried  deep  in  the  cliff, 
and  felt  the  rock  with  its  fissures  all  about  me; 
at  another  moment,  following  my  wish,  I  was 
beneath  the  sea,  and  saw  the  untrodden  sands 
about  me,  with  the  blue  sunlit  water  over  my 
head.  I  saw  the  fish  dart  and  poise  above  me, 
the  ribbons  of  sea-weed  floating  up,  just  swayed 
by  the  currents,  shells  crawling  like  great  snails 
on  the  ooze,  crabs  hurrying  about  among  piles  of 
boulders.  But  something  drew  me  back  to  my 
first  station,  I  know  not  why ;  and  there  I  poised, 
as  a  bird  might  have  poised,  and  lost  myself  in  a 
blissful  dream.  Then  it  darted  into  my  mind 
that  I  was  what  I  had  been  accustomed  to  call 
dead.  So  this  was  what  lay  on  the  other  side  of 
the  dark  passage,  this  lightness,  this  perfect  free- 
dom, this  undreamed-of  peace !  I  had  not  a 
single  care  or  anxiety.  It  seemed  as  if  nothing 
[41] 


Until   the   Evening 


could  trouble  my  repose  and  happiness.  I  could 
only  think  with  a  deep  compassion  of  those  who 
were  still  pent  in  uneasy  bodies,  under  strait  and 
sad  conditions,  anxious,  sad,  troubled,  and  blind, 
not  knowing  that  the  shadow  of  death  which  en- 
compassed them  was  but  the  cloud  which  veiled 
the  gate  of  perfect  and  unutterable  happiness. 

I  felt  rising  in  my  mind  a  sense  of  all  that  lay 
before  me,  of  all  the  mysteries  that  I  would  pene- 
trate, all  the  unvisited  places  that  I  would  see. 
But  at  present  I  was  too  full  of  peace  and  quiet 
happiness  to  do  anything  but  stay  in  an  infinite 
content  where  I  was.  All  sense  of  ennui  or  rest- 
lessness had  left  me.  I  was  utterly  free,  utterly 
blest.  I  did,  indeed,  once  send  my  thought  to 
the  home  which  I  loved,  and  saw  a  darkened 
house,  and  my  dear  ones  moving  about  with  grief 
written  legibly  on  their  faces.  I  saw  my  mother 
sitting  looking  at  some  letters  which  I  perceived 
to  be  my  own,  and  was  aware  that  she  wept. 
But  I  could  not  even  bring  myself  to  grieve  at 
that,  because  I  knew  that  the  same  peace  and  joy 
that  filled  me  was  also  surely  awaiting  them,  and 
the  darkest  passage,  the  sharpest  human  suffer- 
ing, seemed  so  utterly  little  and  trifling  in  the 
light  of  my  new  knowledge ;  and  I  was  soon  back 
on  my  cliff- top  again,  content  to  wait,  to  rest,  to 
[42] 


Until    the   Evening 


luxuriate  in  a  happiness  which  seemed  to  have 
nothing  selfish  about  it,  because  the  satisfaction 
was  so  perfectly  pure  and  natural. 

While  I  thus  waited  I  became  aware,  with  the 
same  sort  of  sudden  perception,  of  a  presence 
beside  me.  It  had  no  outward  form;  but  I 
knew  that  it  was  a  spirit  full  of  love  and  kind- 
ness: it  seemed  to  me  to  be  old;  it  was  not 
divine,  for  it  brought  no  awe  with  it;  and  yet 
it  was  not  quite  human;  it  was  a  spirit  that 
seemed  to  me  to  have  been  human,  but  to  have 
risen  into  a  higher  sphere  of  perception.  I  simply 
felt  a  sense  of  deep  and  pure  companionship.  And 
presently  I  became  aware  that  some  communica- 
tion was  passing  between  my  consciousness  and 
the  consciousness  of  the  newly-arrived  spirit.  It 
did  not  take  place  in  words,  but  in  thought; 
though  only  by  words  can  I  now  represent  it. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  "you  do  well  to  rest 
and  to  be  happy:  is  it  not  a  wonderful  ex- 
perience? and  yet  you  have  been  through  it 
many  times  already,  and  will  pass  through 
it  many  times  again." 

I  suppose  that  I  did  not  wholly  understand 
this,  for  I  said:  "I  do  not  grasp  that  thought, 
though  I  am  certain  it  is  true ;  have  I  then  died 
before?" 

[43] 


U ntil    the   Evening 


"Yes,"  said  the  other;  "many  times.  It  is  a 
long  progress;  you  will  remember  soon,  when 
you  have  had  time  to  reflect,  and  when  the  sweet 
novelty  of  the  change  has  become  more  custom- 
ary. You  have  but  returned  to  us  again  for  a 
little;  one  needs  that,  you  know,  at  first;  one 
needs  some  refreshment  and  repose  after  each 
one  of  our  lives,  to  be  renewed,  to  be  strength- 
ened for  what  comes  after." 

All  at  once  I  understood.  I  knew  that  my  last 
life  had  been  one  of  many  lives  lived  at  all  sorts 
of  times  and  dates,  and  under  various  conditions ; 
that  at  the  end  of  each  I  had  returned  to  this 
joyful  freedom. 

It  was  the  first  cloud  that  passed  over  my 
thought.  "Must  I  return  again  to  life?"  I 
said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  other;  "you  see  that;  you 
will  soon  return  again  —  but  never  mind  that 
now ;  you  are  here  to  drink  your  fill  of  the  beau- 
tiful things  which  you  will  only  remember  by 
glimpses  and  visions  when  you  are  back  in  the 
little  life  again." 

And  then  I  had  a  sudden  intuition.    I  seemed 

to  be  suddenly  in  a  small  and  ugly  street  of  a  dark 

town.    I  saw  slatternly  women  run  in  and  out  of 

the  houses;   I  saw  smoke-stained  grimy  children 

[44] 


Until    the   Evening 


playing  in  the  gutter.  Above  the  poor,  ill-kept 
houses  a  factory  poured  its  black  smoke  into  the 
air,  and  hummed  behind  its  shuttered  windows. 
I  knew  in  a  sad  flash  of  thought  that  I  was  to  be 
born  there,  to  be  brought  up  as  a  wailing  child, 
under  sad  and  sordid  conditions,  to  struggle  into 
a  life  of  hard  and  hopeless  labour,  in  the  midst  of 
vice,  and  poverty,  and  drunkenness,  and  hard 
usage.  It  filled  me  for  a  moment  with  a  sort  of 
nauseous  dread,  remembering  the  free  and  liberal 
conditions  of  my  last  life,  the  wealth  and  comfort 
I  had  enjoyed. 

"No,"  said  the  other;  for  in  a  moment  I  was 
back  again,  "that  is  an  unworthy  thought  —  it  is 
but  for  a  moment;  and  you  will  return  to  this 
peace  again." 

But  the  sad  thought  came  down  upon  me  like 
a  cloud.  "Is  there  no  escape?"  I  said;  and  at 
that,  in  a  moment,  the  other  spirit  seemed  to  chide 
me,  not  angrily,  but  patiently  and  compassion- 
ately. "One  suffers,"  he  said,  "but  one  gains  ex- 
perience;  one  rises,"  adding  more  gently:  "We 
do  not  know  why  it  must  be,  of  course  —  but  it 
is  the  Will ;  and  however  much  one  may  doubt 
and  suffer  in  the  dark  world  there,  one  does 
not  doubt  of  the  wisdom  or  the  love  of  it  here." 
And  I  knew  in  a  moment  that  I  did  not  doubt, 
[45] 


Until    the   Evening 


but  that  I  would  go  willingly  wherever  I  should 
be  sent. 

And  then  my  thought  became  concerned  with 
the  spirit  that  spoke  with  me,  and  I  said,  "And 
what  is  your  place  and  work  ?  for  I  think  you  are 
like  me  and  yet  unlike."  And  he  said :  "  Yes,  it  is 
true;  I  have  to  return  thither  no  more;  that  is 
finished  for  me,  and  I  grudge  no  single  step  of  the 
dark  road :  I  cannot  explain  to  you  what  my  work 
or  place  is;  but  I  am  old,  and  have  seen  many 
things;  each  of  us  has  to  return  and  return,  not 
indeed  till  we  are  made  perfect,  but  till  we  have 
finished  that  part  of  our  course ;  but  the  blessed- 
ness of  this  peace  grows  and  grows,  while  it  be- 
comes easier  to  bear  what  happens  in  that  other 
place,  for  we  grow  strong  and  simple  and  sincere, 
and  then  the  world  can  hurt  us  but  little.  We 
learn  that  we  must  not  judge  men ;  but  we  know 
that  when  we  see  them  cruel  and  vicious  and 
selfish,  they  are  then  but  children  learning  their 
first  lessons;  and  on  each  of  our  visits  to  this 
place  we  see  that  the  evil  matters  less  and  less, 
and  the  hope  becomes  brighter  and  brighter ;  till 
at  last  we  see."  And  I  then  seemed  to  turn  to 
him  in  thought,  for  he  said  with  a  grave  joy: 
"Yes,  I  have  seen."  And  presently  I  was  left 
alone  to  my  happiness. 

146] 


Until    the   Evening 


How  long  it  lasted  I  cannot  tell ;  but  presently 
I  seemed  less  free,  less  light  of  heart ;  and  soon  I 
knew  that  I  was  bound ;  and  after  a  space  I  woke 
into  the  world  again,  and  took  up  my  burden  of 
cares. 

But  for  all  that  I  have  a  sense  of  hopefulness 
/eft  which  I  think  will  not  quite  desert  me.  From 
what  dim  cell  of  the  brain  my  vision  rose,  I  know 
not,  but  though  it  came  to  me  in  so  precise  and 
clear  a  form,  yet  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  some- 
thing deep  and  true  has  been  revealed  to  me, 
some  glimpse  of  pure  heaven  and  bright  air, 
that  lies  outside  our  little  fretted  lives. 


[47] 


Until   the   Evening 


THE  ETERNAL  WILL 

I  HAVE  spoken  above,  I  know  well,  of  things 
in  which  I  have  no  skill  to  speak;  I  know 
no  philosophy  or  metaphysics;  to  look  into  a 
philosophical  book  is  to  me  like  looking  into  a 
room  piled  up  with  bricks,  the  pure  materials  of 
thought ;  they  have  no  meaning  for  me,  until  the 
beautiful  mind  of  some  literary  architect  has  built 
them  into  a  house  of  life;  but  just  as  a  shallow 
pool  can  reflect  the  dark  and  infinite  spaces  of 
night,  pierced  with  stars,  so  in  my  own  shallow 
mind  these  perennial  difficulties,  which  lie  behind 
all  that  we  do  and  say,  can  be  for  a  moment 
mirrored. 

The  only  value  that  such  thoughts  can  have  in 
life  is  that  they  should  teach  us  to  live  in  a  frank 
and  sincere  mood,  waiting  patiently  for  the  Lord, 
as  the  old  Psalmist  said.  My  own  philosophy 
is  a  very  simple  one,  and,  if  I  could  only  be 
truer  to  it,  it  would  bring  me  the  strength  which 
I  lack.  It  is  this:  that  being  what  we  are, 
such  frail,  mysterious,  inexplicable  beings,  we 
should  wait  humbly  and  hopefully  upon  God, 
not  attempting,  nor  even  wishing,  to  make  up 
[48] 


Until    the   Evening 


our  minds  upon  these  deep  secrets,  only  de- 
termined that  we  will  be  true  to  the  inner  light, 
and  that  we  will  not  accept  any  solution  which 
depends  for  its  success  upon  neglecting  or  over- 
looking any  of  the  phenomena  with  which  we 
are  confronted.  We  find  ourselves  placed  in 
the  world,  in  definite  relations  with  certain  people, 
endowed  with  certain  qualities,  with  faults  and 
fears,  with  hopes  and  joys,  with  likes  and  dislikes. 
Evil  haunts  us  like  a  shadow,  and  though  it 
menaces  our  happiness,  we  fall  again  and  again 
under  its  dominion ;  in  the  depths  of  our  spirit  a 
voice  speaks,  which  assures  us  again  and  again 
that  truth  and  purity  and  love  are  the  best  and 
dearest  things  that  we  can  desire;  and  that 
voice,  however  imperfectly,  I  try  to  obey,  because 
it  seems  the  strongest  and  clearest  of  all  the 
voices  that  call  to  me.  I  try  to  regard  all  ex- 
perience, whether  sweet  or  bitter,  fair  or  foul, 
as  sent  me  by  the  great  and  awful  power  that 
put  me  where  I  am.  The  strongest  and  best 
things  in  the  world  seem  to  me  to  be  peace  and 
tranquillity,  and  the  same  hidden  power  seems 
to  be  leading  me  thither;  and  to  lead  me  all 
the  faster  whenever  I  try  not  to  fret,  not  to 
grieve,  not  to  despair.  "Casting  all  your  care 
upon  him,  for  he  careth  for  you"  says  the  Divine 
4  [  49  ] 


Until    the   Evening 


Word ;  and  the  more  that  I  follow  intuition  rather 
than  reason,  the  nearer  I  seem  to  come  to  the 
truth.  I  have  lately  wasted  much  fruitless 
thought  over  an  anxious  decision,  weighing 
motives,  forecasting  possibilities.  I  knew  at  the 
time  how  useless  it  all  was,  and  that  my  course 
would  be  made  clear  at  the  right  moment; 
and  I  will  tell  the  story  of  how  it  was  made 
clear,  as  testimony  to  the  perfect  guidance  of 
the  divine  hand.  I  was  taking  a  journey,  and 
the  weary  process  was  going  on  in  my  mind; 
every  possible  argument  for  and  against  the 
step  was  being  reviewed  and  tested ;  I  could  not 
read,  I  could  not  even  look  abroad  upon  the 
world.  The  train  drew  up  at  a  dull  suburban 
station,  where  our  tickets  were  collected.  The 
signal  was  given,  and  we  started.  It  was  at  this 
moment  that  the  conviction  came,  and  I  saw  how 
I  must  act,  with  a  certainty  which  I  could  not 
gainsay  or  resist.  My  reason  had  anticipated 
the  opposite  decision,  but  I  had  no  longer  any 
doubt  or  hesitation.  The  only  question  was 
how  and  when  to  announce  the  result;  but 
when  I  returned  home  the  same  evening  there 
was  the  letter  waiting  for  me  which  gave  the 
very  opportunity  I  desired;  and  I  have  since 
learnt  without  surprise  that  the  letter  was  being 
[50] 


Until    the   Evening 


penned  at  the  very  moment  when  the  conviction 
came  to  me. 

I  have  told  this  experience  in  detail,  because 
it  seems  to  me  to  be  a  very  perfect  example  of 
the  suddenness  with  which  conviction  comes. 
But  neither  do  I  grudge  the  anxious  reveries 
which  for  many  days  had  preceded  that  convic- 
tion, because  through  them  I  learnt  something  of 
the  inner  weakness  of  my  nature.  But  the  true 
secret  of  it  all  is  that  we  ought  to  live  as  far  as 
we  can  in  the  day,  the  hour,  the  minute;  to 
waste  no  time  in  anxious  forecasting  and  miser- 
able regrets,  but  just  do  what  lies  before  us  as 
faithfully  as  possible.  Gradually,  too,  one  learns 
that  the  restricting  of  what  is  called  religion  to 
certain  times  of  prayer  and  definite  solemnities 
is  the  most  pitiful  of  all  mistakes;  life  lived 
with  the  intuition  that  I  have  indicated  is  all 
religion.  The  most  trivial  incident  has  to  be 
interpreted;  every  word  and  deed  and  thought 
becomes  full  of  a  deep  significance.  One  has 
no  longer  any  anxious  sense  of  duty;  one  de- 
sires no  longer  either  to  impress  or  influence; 
one  aims  only  at  guarding  the  quality  of  all 
one  does  or  says  —  or  rather  the  very  word 
"aims"  is  a  wrong  one;  there  is  no  longer  any 
aim  or  effort,  except  the  effort  to  feel  which  way 
[51] 


Until    the   Evening 


the  gentle  guiding  hand  would  have  us  to  go ;  the 
only  sorrow  that  is  possible  is  when  we  rather 
perversely  follow  our  own  will  and  pleasure. 

The  reason  why  I  desire  this  book  to  say  its 
few  words  to  my  brothers  and  sisters  of  this  life, 
without  any  intrusion  of  personality,  is  that  I  am 
so  sure  of  the  truth  of  what  I  say,  that  I  would 
not  have  any  one  distracted  from  the  principles 
I  have  tried  to  put  into  words,  by  being  able  to 
compare  it  with  my  own  weak  practice.  I  am 
so  far  from  having  attained ;  I  have,  I  know,  so 
many  weary  leagues  to  traverse  yet,  that  I  would 
not  have  my  faithless  and  perverse  wanderings 
known.  But  the  secret  waits  for  all  who  can 
throw  aside  convention  and  insincerity,  who  can 
make  the  sacrifice  with  a  humble  heart,  and  throw 
themselves  utterly  and  fearlessly  into  the  hands 
of  God.  Societies,  organisations,  ceremonies, 
forms,  authority,  dogma  —  they  are  all  outside ; 
silently  and  secretly,  in  the  solitude  of  one's 
heart,  must  the  lonely  path  be  found;  but  the 
slender  track  once  beneath  our  feet,  all  the  com- 
plicated relations  of  the  world  become  clear  and 
simple.  We  have  no  need  to  change  our  path  in 
life,  to  seek  for  any  human  guide,  to  desire  new 
conditions,  because  we  have  the  one  Guide  close 
to  us,  closer  than  friend  or  brother  or  lover,  and 
[52] 


Until    the   Evening 


we  know  that  we  are  set  where  he  would  have  us 
to  be.  Such  a  belief  destroys  in  a  flash  all  our 
embarrassment  in  dealing  with  others,  all  our 
anxieties  in  dealing  with  ourselves.  In  dealing 
with  ourselves  we  shall  only  desire  to  be  faithful, 
fearless  and  sincere;  in  dealing  with  others  we 
shall  try  to  be  patient,  tender,  appreciative,  and 
hopeful.  If  we  have  to  blame,  we  shall  blame 
without  bitterness,  without  the  outraged  sense  of 
personal  vanity  that  brings  anger  with  it.  If  we 
can  praise,  we  shall  praise  with  generous  prodi- 
gality;  we  shall  not  think  of  ourselves  as  a  centre 
of  influence,  as  radiating  example  and  precept; 
but  we  shall  know  our  own  failures  and  difficul- 
ties, and  shall  realise  as  strongly  that  others  are 
led  likewise,  and  that  each  is  the  Father's  pecu- 
liar care,  as  we  realise  it  about  ourselves.  There 
will  be  no  thrusting  of  ourselves  to  the  front,  nor 
an  uneasy  lingering  upon  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  because  we  shall  know  that  our  place  and 
our  course  are  defined.  We  may  crave  for  happi- 
ness, but  we  shall  not  resent  sorrow.  The  dreari- 
est and  saddest  day  becomes  the  inevitable,  the 
true  setting  for  our  soul;  we  must  drink  the 
draught,  and  not  fear  to  taste  its  bitterest  savour ; 
it  is  the  Father's  cup.  That  a  Christian,  in  such 
a  mood,  can  concern  himself  with  what  is  called 
[53] 


Until    the   Evening 


the  historical  basis  of  the  Gospels,  is  a  thought 
which  can  only  be  met  by  a  smile;  for  there 
stands  the  record  of  perhaps  the  only  life  ever 
lived  upon  earth  that  conformed  itself,  at  every 
moment,  in  the  darkest  experiences  that  life 
could  bring,  entirely  and  utterly  to  the  Divine 
Will.  One  who  walks  in  the  light  that  I  have 
spoken  of  is  as  inevitably  a  Christian  as  he  is  a 
human  being,  and  is  as  true  to  the  spirit  of  Christ 
as  he  is  indifferent  to  the  human  accretions  that 
have  gathered  round  the  august  message. 

The  possession  of  such  a  secret  involves  no 
retirement  from  the  world,  no  breaking  of  ties,  no 
ecclesiastical  exercises,  no  endeavour  to  penetrate 
obscure  ideas.  It  is  as  simple  as  the  sunlight 
and  the  air.  It  involves  no  protest,  no  phrase,  no 
renunciation.  Its  protest  will  be  an  unconcerned 
example,  its  phrase  will  be  a  perfect  sincerity  of 
speech,  its  renunciation  will  be  what  it  does,  not 
what  it  abstains  from  doing.  It  will  go  or  stay 
as  the  inner  voice  bids  it.  It  will  not  attempt 
the  impossible  nor  the  novel.  Very  clearly,  from 
hour  to  hour,  the  path  will  be  made  plain,  the 
weakness  fortified,  the  sin  purged  away.  It  will 
judge  no  other  life,  it  will  seek  no  goal ;  it  will 
sometimes  strive  and  cry,  it  will  sometimes  rest; 
it  will  move  as  gently  and  simply  in  unison  with 
[54] 


Until   tUe   Evening 


the  one  supreme  will,  as  the  tide  moves  beneath 
the  moon,  piled  in  the  central  deep  with  all  its 
noises,  flooding  the  mud-stained  waterway,  where 
the  ships  ride  together,  or  creeping  softly  upon 
the  pale  sands  of  some  sequestered  bay. 


[55] 


U ntil    the   Evening 


UNTIL  THE  EVENING 

1STOP  sometimes  on  a  landing  in  an  old  house, 
where  I  often  stay,  to  look  at  a  dusky,  faded 
water-colour  that  hangs  upon  the  wall.  I  do  not 
think  its  technical  merit  is  great,  but  it  somehow 
has  the  poetical  quality.  It  represents,  or  seems 
to  represent,  a  piece  of  high  open  ground,  down- 
land  or  heath,  with  a  few  low  bushes  growing 
there,  sprawling  and  wind-brushed;  a  road 
crosses  the  fore-ground,  and  dips  over  to  the  plain 
beyond,  a  forest  tract  full  of  dark  woodland, 
dappled  by  open  spaces.  There  is  a  long  faint 
distant  line  of  hills  on  the  horizon.  The  time  ap- 
pears to  be  just  after  sunset,  when  the  sky  is  still 
full  of  a  pale  liquid  light,  before  objects  have  lost 
their  colour,  but  are  just  beginning  to  be  tinged 
with  dusk.  In  the  road  stands  the  figure  of  a 
man,  with  his  back  turned,  his  hand  shading 
his  eyes  as  he  gazes  out  across  the  plain.  He 
appears  to  be  a  wayfarer,  and  to  be  weary  but 
not  dispirited.  There  is  a  look  of  serene  and 
sober  content  about  him,  how  communicated  I 
know  not.  He  would  seem  to  have  far  to  go, 
[56] 


Until    the   Evening 


but  yet  to  be  certainly  drawing  nearer  to  his 
home,  which  indeed  he  seems  to  discern  afar  off. 
The  picture  bears  the  simple  legend,  Until  the 
Evening. 

This  design  seems  always  to  be  charged  for 
me  with  a  beautiful  and  grave  meaning.  Just  so 
would  I  draw  near  to  the  end  of  my  pilgrimage, 
wearied  but  tranquil,  assured  of  rest  and  welcome. 
The  freshness  and  blithe  eagerness  of  the  morning 
are  over,  the  solid  hours  of  sturdy  progress  are 
gone,  the  heat  of  the  day  is  past,  and  only  the 
gentle  descent  among  the  shadows  remains,  with 
cool  airs  blowing  from  darkling  thickets,  laden 
with  woodland  scents,  and  the  rich  fragrance  of 
rushy  dingles.  Ere  the  night  falls  the  wayfarer 
will  push  the  familiar  gate  open,  and  see  the  lamp- 
lit  windows  of  home,  with  the  dark  chimneys  and 
gables  outlined  against  the  green  sky.  Those 
that  love  him  are  awaiting  him,  listening  for  the 
footfall  to  draw  near. 

Is  it  not  possible  to  attain  this  ?  And  yet  how 
often  does  it  seem  to  be  the  fate  of  a  human  soul 
to  stumble,  like  one  chased  and  hunted,  with 
dazed  and  terrified  air,  and  hurried  piteous 
phrase,  down  the  darkening  track.  Yet  one 
should  rather  approach  God,  bearing  in  careful 
hands  the  priceless  and  precious  gift  of  life, 
[57] 


Until    the   Evening 


ready  to  restore  it  if  it  be  his  will.  God  grant 
us  so  to  live,  in  courage  and  trust,  that,  when  he 
calls  us  we  may  pass  willingly  and  with  a  quiet 
confidence  to  the  gate  that  opens  into  tracts 
unknown ! 


[58] 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


